The Independent Variable
by Kaesa Aurelia Secunda
Summary: Future Hogwarts Founders Rowena and Helga have decided to test the assumption that cats always land on their feet; however, they have great difficulty in getting one of their human test subjects to cooperate.


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Disclaimer: I do not pretend to be J.K. Rowling, or to own the Hogwarts Founders, although I do lay claim to my particular versions of them and any original characters that may decide to be around. However, in this fic, pretty much everybody is in some part owned by J.K. Rowling, whether it be their first name, their last, or their very existence. Please don't sue me – it's not like I'm making any money.

Also, this fic contains cruelty to animals. **Under no circumstances do I advocate such treatment. **If you decide to flame me for it, I reserve the right to point at this disclaimer. Thank you.

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Author's Note: This story takes place in the same Founders-universe as my novel-length fic, The School Eternal. You certainly need not have read it to understand this, but if you like this one, you may enjoy the other, and vice versa.

Also, I wouldn't dare post a fic without running it past a beta, so I thank Elbell for her work.

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The Independent Variable

"Hand me Binky, would you?" said Helga, turning around to talk to her friend Rowena. She felt very important, doing research like this. Rowena handed her the kitten, and she held it out of the window.

"HELGA! WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT CAT?"

Helga turned to face her mother. Elmira Lockhart looked fairly harassed, but then she felt that she was entitled to it. She was taking care of four children under one roof (only two of them her own), and was still waiting for a husband who had gone missing some years ago.

"It's an experiment," said Helga matter-of-factly.

"A very important one," added Rowena. There was something about Rowena that Elmira had never quite trusted, but Helga seemed to like her well enough.

"An experiment? Helga, you know your father disappeared doing something _experimental_, don't you? That's dangerous."

"But . . . but . . ."

"Don't you understand?" asked Rowena desperately. "This is one of those things that we _need_ to know. Everyone _says_ that cats always land on their feet, don't they? How can we be certain? Do we have any proof?"

Elmira frowned to herself, then smiled widely and patted Rowena on the head. "It's just one of those things you need to have faith in. Don't worry about it, dear. And for God's sake, don't go dropping cats out of windows!"

"But if they _always_ land on their feet–" Rowena began, but was cut off by a huge **_CRASH_** that sounded like it had come from the general vicinity of the kitchen. Elmira turned and ran off; hoping that whoever-it-was hadn't ruined her soup.

"Don't drop him until I get downstairs," said Rowena. "I want to be _certain_ that he actually _lands_ on his feet."

Helga nodded. "But hurry," she warned, "my arm's tired."

Rowena grabbed a piece of parchment and hurried downstairs, rushing past Mistress Lockhart whilst she was otherwise engaged in scolding Godric (who was clutching a large toad), and walking rather slowly past Helga's brother Leo, who, because she was feeling bold, she smiled at. Stepping outside, she looked up to the window and called that she was ready. Binky dropped quickly and landed on his feet. Eight more kittens followed, most of them landing on their feet, then Helga moved up to the roof to drop the rest of them while Rowena tallied results. The overwhelming majority of kittens landed feet-first, if not actually _on_ their feet, and all survived the fall with no injuries to speak of.

When the last kitten had fallen, mewing, to the ground, Helga joined Rowena in collecting kittens. "Well," said Helga, "we've proved it, haven't we?"

"I'm not entirely convinced," said Rowena. "What if we didn't go high enough?"

"We can't go any higher," said Helga. "Not unless you can fly?"

"Mother won't let me have a broom," said Rowena. "And _you_ don't have one. No, we're going to need to throw something else off the roof."

"Why?"

"Don't you see? If _it_ lands on its feet from that height, how do we know that _everything_ doesn't land on its feet if it's dropped from the roof?"

"Well . . ." said Helga, thinking it through for herself. "What about worms?"

"What about them?"

"Worms don't have feet," said Helga. "So they can't land on them."

"Worms don't count."

Helga nodded. "What did you have in mind, then? Mum won't let us borrow any chairs, not after what Runty did in the kitchen today."

"What _did_ he do, anyway?" Rowena asked curiously.

"I don't know, exactly," said Helga, "but it involved spilling a great deal of soup."

"We need something living, anyway," said Rowena. "I saw the cats, and I think they twisted around a lot while they were falling. You don't get that with chairs."

"You might if you let Leo near one of them with a wand," said Helga to herself.

"Or Runty."

The idea came to both of them at the same time. They looked at each other, grinning. "You catch him," said Helga, "and I'll throw him."

* * *

Godric was having an especially bad day. He had been trying, he insisted, to save the toad from a tortured death in a cauldron of vegetable soup, but Mistress Lockhart was clearly not buying it. Godric wouldn't have bought it himself, except that for once he was telling the truth.

And thus it was that he was sitting in the corner of the attic rather than releasing the toad back to the wild, or possibly naming it and teaching it tricks. He glared at the shadows and stayed as far away from the window as possible. Godric was afraid of heights, and his brother had always joked that this was why he was so short.

He caught the sounds of voices coming up the stairs.

" . . . can't imagine where he is," said Rowena, who knew Latin and _enjoyed_ it.

"We'll just have to use the toad, then," said Helga, who did not know Latin, but had thirteen pet worms, all with names. "Pity– it's not really ideal for observation, is it?"

"No," said Rowena. "I only wish that – _Runt!_ There you are! We've been looking for you."

Godric blinked. Looking for him? Since when did they abase themselves by looking for _him?_ Usually Rowena cornered him and made him conjugate verbs, while Helga considered him a curious specimen of Muggle culture.

"We're doing a very important experiment," said Helga.

"For the sake of science, would you consent to being thrown off the roof?' asked Rowena.

Godric blinked.

"It's rather short notice, I know," she said apologetically. "If we'd had more time, I would have owled your parents and threat – er, asked them if it was all right, but . . . well, your parents aren't going to come after us, anyway, are they? I mean, they're Muggles, yes? What are they going to do to _us?_" Rowena asked incredulously.

"Thrown off the _roof?_" Godric asked, cutting right to the point.

"Well, not really _thrown,_ exactly, more like _dropped._"

"What for?"

"We can't tell you," said Helga. "That'd bias the results." Rowena nodded.

Godric was still dubious. 

"Look, it's very important. The fate of the world may be at stake!" said Rowena dramatically, noting his expression.

"Really?" asked Godric. Well, if she put it like _that . . ._

"No, not really," said Rowena. "I just said that so that Helga could sneak up behind you with the rope."

Godric realised that the blonde girl was not in front of him any more, and suddenly he found himself being tied up and Levitated up the ladder to the roof with a stolen wand.

"I'll go down to watch," said Rowena.

"Watch? What do you need to watch for?"

"Don't panic," said Helga. "None of the kittens panicked." She untied him, and he suddenly found himself perched on the edge of the roof, looking down at the rest of the world. It was dizzying; surely people were not meant to be this high up, were they? It was only the top of a roof and already he was feeling nauseous.

"Go on, then," said Helga. "Do you really want me to push you?"

Godric shook his head without looking at her. He wanted to cover his eyes and forget the distance between himself and the ground, but instead he was almost compelled to look down at the horrible drop.

"Well then, what are you waiting for?"

_A miracle would be nice,_ he thought to himself. _Or a ladder, that would be good too._ "You're not . . . serious about this whole business?" he asked her, moving his hands to indicate the world in general.

"Step off," she said, pointing down.

"No!"

"Fine, then, I'll push you," she sighed, her tone indicating that she'd told him so.

Godric looked from the menacing Helga to Rowena down on the ground, scribbling away on a roll of parchment. He looked pleadingly up at the sky, begging for some divine intervention – at this point he didn't care if it turned out to be a ladder or a lightning bolt. Helga started to shove him. Then, suddenly, she was not Helga, but an angry-looking black-and-white creature with claws.

While he was wondering if he dared undo this development (or if he even _could_), he heard someone stomping up the ladder. "Which one of you has my wand?" Mistress Lockhart demanded, not sounding pleased.

Suddenly Godric realised how this must look: here he was, escaping punishment in the attic by stealing Mistress Lockhart's wand and turning her daughter (who was obviously heroically trying to stop him) into a badger, then jumping off the roof and running away to the Muggles again. He looked in horror at the badger, then down at Rowena, who had the wand. A hand poked up from the ladder, then another. He had two choices, and both were certain death.

He jumped, landed on his feet, and felt pain shoot through one of his ankles as it twisted in a unique and creative way. Godric collapsed to the ground, clutching the offending ankle.

"He landed on his feet, Helga!" Rowena called. "It looks bad now, but I'm _certain _he was on his feet before. We'll need to go higher! Helga, are you listening?"

Godric groaned, and wished it _had_ been certain death.


End file.
